


Pleasures of Memory

by scribblingnellie (onegirlandherpen)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Affection, Domestic, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Garden Centre, Lestrade loves to indulge Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft is the font of all knowledge, POV Mycroft Holmes, Rupert Graves Birthday Auction 2017, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegirlandherpen/pseuds/scribblingnellie
Summary: Mycroft is the font of all knowledge, and Greg loves him for it.





	Pleasures of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for 2017 Rupert Graves Birthday Auction for Lyd Sqd. Reposting.
> 
> Ship - Mystrade. Prompt word - Periwinkle

'Remind me again, Greg - why are we here?'

'Because I need a new shovel, and...' Greg squeezed his lover's hand as they walked through the open automatic doors into the cool atmosphere of their local garden centre. '...you agreed to come with me.'

'I did? Hmm, yes, I suppose I did.' Mycroft's expression told Greg everything he needed to know. 'As I have no interest in neither locating nor choosing a new shovel, I shall simply wander.'

'Whatever you want, Mycroft.'

Greg watched him walk away, bypassing the shelves and displays of plant pots and bird feeders and seed packets without giving them a glance.

Wondering why on earth Mycroft had agreed to come with him, Greg ran a hand through his hair, scruffing it up further. Oh well, best let him get it out of his system. Greg orientated himself and set off towards the racks of shiny new garden implements.

***

So where had Mycroft got to? Scanning the section one more time, Greg made his way out of the mass of garden furniture and back outside to the rows and rows of plants. Letting his gaze wander over the abundant greenery, the tall, slim figure caught his eye easily; he would know that sexy man anywhere. As Greg got closer, weaving in and out of the strolling Sunday shoppers, he noticed  Mycroft was deep in thought, with what appeared to be a plant in his hand. That was new.

'What you got there, handsome?' Greg slipped his arm around Mycroft's waist when he finally reached him.

' _Vinca minor_.' Turning the small pot around, his finger gently lifting up one of the small blue flowers.

'Hmm.' Greg readjusted the weight of the shovel in his hand. 'None the wiser, dear.'

Pulling his attention away from examining the plant, Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg felt his heart give several thuds - those intense, gorgeous blue eyes always had that effect on him, even now.

'Native to central and southern Europe. A trailing sub shrub which spreads densely over the ground.' Mycroft smiled as he let his fingers run through the green stems tumbling over the sides of the small pot. 'Excellent at smothering weeds.'

'It is?' Greg couldn't help laughing at the almost gleeful hint in Mycroft's voice. 'Feeling an affinity with the plant, are we?'

Choosing to ignore Greg's cheeky comment, Mycroft studied the plant nestled carefully in his hand. 'It was a flower associated with the dead. Often planted on graves. Also used as wreaths for the deceased, to help them pass on.'

'Morbid, but interesting.'

'One summer I came across an antique book in my mother's study - German plant folk lore.'

'Ah huh.' Greg knew his lover well enough to encourage his thought trail. 'In German?'

Mycroft nodded. 'Of course.'

'Of course.' Greg smiled at the faraway look on Mycroft's face. He hadn't talked much about his childhood, but Greg knew that many of Mycroft's happiest memories involved books. 

'The entry on _Vinca minor_ listed immortality as one of its many, varied properties.'

'And continuing with the morbid.' Resting his chin against Mycroft's shoulder, a quick squeeze of his waist. Greg loved how Mycroft was a never ending font of knowledge. 'So what else did you discover about this plant, apart from the immortality - I'm assuming you don't want it for that. Well, I'm hoping you don't. You're not planning on going all Dorian Gray on me, are you?'

Another raised eyebrow, and a twitch of a sexy smile at the corner of Mycroft's lips. 'I have also read that placing it in the mattress of the lovers' bed would enhance passion.'

'Have you indeed? And how many of these plants, what are they...' Greg leaned across Mycroft, enjoying the warm tug in his heart at the press of their bodies, at the brushing of their hands as he pulled out the half hidden plastic tag stuck in the tub. '.. _periwinkle_. And how many periwinkles were you thinking we might need?'

'Gregory, my dear, I would not have thought that we needed any.'

The sexy look in Mycroft's beautiful eyes made Greg feel hot and bothered all over. No, they definitely didn't need any help in the passion department.

***

Carefully placing the shovel in front of the tray of periwinkles, Greg smiled at the impossibility of picturing Mycroft as a gardener.

'Definitely morbid. Hope no one thinks we're off to bury someone,' Greg said as he closed the car boot.

Mycroft, reaching for the passenger door handle, smiled at him. 'No, they would not. Not with that kind of shovel.'

***


End file.
